Unless your place already has a study, which is highly doubtful if you belong to low-to-average-income earners in the Philippines, working from home must have felt like, at some point, preparing for a play production.
Escaping our deterministic tramlines individually often makes us corrupted sellouts, whereas changing them collectively makes us revolutionaries.
We recently heard of the shocking discovery of the grave of 215 children found on the grounds of the Kamloops Indian Residential School in British Columbia, Canada. The children belonged to Indigenous communities, and were forcibly enrolled in such schools as part of the Canadian government’s policy of cultural assimilation.
When the pantries first came out, it was easy to call them charity because of their no-strings-attached giving away to those most in need. But many countered by casting this (approvingly, too) more properly as socialism.
Credibility is automatically compromised once information dissemination gets treated as business. Only information that translates to profit or that conditions people to consume becomes published or aired.
Children are always the most vulnerable in conflict areas. Despite almost two decades of documenting violations in conflict areas, I am affected whenever I learn that children were the casualties in military operations.
But what makes the normal new? Once the new is undone are we better off with what is left of us?
But there can be no further wondering why government feels threatened by progressive education. State forces insist that they “rescued” Lumad students—they rescued them from further learning how government assists in the corporate plunder of their ancestral lands, from realizing the potential of their collective strength as our young heroes then realized their collective strength.
Datu Benito Bay-ao was one of the Lumad leaders who were taken into custody after that disgraceful raid at the Bakwit School in Cebu City. Just six years ago, Dats Bens (as we call him) spoke with pride and optimism in this documentary about their Lumad school in their village of Dulyan, and across the other upland villages in the Pantaron under the Salugpongan Ta Tanu Igkanugon organization. Schooling in the cities made them ashamed of, and forget about, being a Lumad, he said. But with their schools built right in their domain, young Lumad could learn while keeping their tradition alive.
A couple of days after they burned down the houses, they returned to beat up another farmer. They keep returning to destroy the remaining houses, the remaining properties and crush what is left of the farmers’ dignity.
